by Bob'n Around
Invisible matters of the mind turned real into the written word.
|SCREAMS!!! Prompt: HIS SILHOUETTE IN THE DARKENED GARAGE, SOMETHING BLOODY IN HIS UPRAISED HAND.
It was garbage day. Again. How time flies. Andrew Dee could smell it coming, the dirtiest job. An unusual amount of flies led the way. “And don’t come back ‘till the job is done.”
She wouldn’t be whining like that anymore. Her and that new male friend haunting the back door. Caught them, he did, right in his own bed. “Time to carry another piece of history, piece of garbage meat out on its last journey.”
They could rot in hell. Started the right way. “You two smell pretty rank.” Shelly Dee was something in bed. Couldn’t really blame the guy falling for her. That’s how Shelly had tugged the ring on Andrew’s nose down onto her marriage finger.
“Man’s got his pride.” Andrew knew he’d have to douse his garbage with more gasoline this week than usual. “Have to be careful, don’t want to arouse curiosity.”
Since the killing, he’d grown a little paranoid about that. The murder had not been planned. It made cleaning up the mess harder. Excuses to the neighbors, lame answers to phone calls ahd him looking over his shoulder at imaginary cops.
“Who’s there?” There was a noise definitely not his. Someone sounded like they were in the garage. Or something. Maybe a dog. Had he forgotten to lock it? “Steady.”
Old habits are hard to forget. He’d been haunted by half-seen images of his wife at the edge of his vision, felt her presence, smelled her perfume leaving a room as he entered it. “And her man friend, not so much.” He was just a silhouette, blurred, cudgeled into motionlessness fading into a shapeless mess.
“Personal spiritual adviser, my ass. Reading more than Shelly’s palm, weren’t you?” Andrew Dee planned on leaving forever as soon as he got rid of the bodies. “Can’t leave those as evidence.”
This was the last batch. Their two heads. “Fitting,” Andrew Dee shuffled with the weight inside two of Shelly’s bowling ball gray leather bags.
He was nervous. “Talking to myself too much. Even find myself talking to Shelly. Talking to her new man.”
Last night. He’d be off at the crack of dawn after garbage pickup. There was that noise again. Definitely in the garage. “Yep. Door left unlocked.”
He was close now. The smell stronger, mixing death somehow with Shelly’s perfume. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
Inside the door. Moving. Garbage cans to his right. There was Shelly, waiting for him with her man, HIS SILHOUETTE IN THE DARKENED GARAGE, SOMETHING BLOODY IN HIS UPRAISED HAND.
“Losers. Have to murder you two all over again.”
It was the neighbor’s dog in the morning, bringing Shelly’s gnawed head back home that yielded the days’ first scream of many.
The police had no explanation for what they found. “Funeral pyre. Must have roasted himself and his garbage.”
The cooked meat included Andrew Dee’s black heart held in Shelly’s man friend's dead hand.